Thursday, November 24, 2011


My suspense novel CHOSEN has 30% off at Smashwords until Monday morning! Use the code AP32U to get the discount. If you'd rather read it in paperback - it will be available in that form on the 28th November. I've already got an early copy - oh and its so lovely!! On my bookshelf with my others!!!

This is NOT a fluffy, funny erotic romance. It's a hard hitting tale of how far someone will go for revenge.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Angels with a difference

I'm guessing that by now - my fellow authors have said everything there is to say about Angels and Demons. Well, maybe not everything, we're authors after all, so we should always be able to come up with something to say.
This picture is of the Angel of the North. A sculpture by Anthony Gormley. It's on a hill near Gateshead in the north of the UK and it's wingspan is a big as a jumbo jet. It's something I love to see when I drive north - a sign of changing countryside, a sign of another world.

This is one of my favourite EVER songs - Angels by the fabulous Robbie Williams. I run to this song when I'm on holiday! Robbie's lyrics have inspired many of my stories. He also inspired the character of Charlie in my book Strangers.

The cover of this book by Becca Fitzpatrick is one of the most stunning I've ever seen. I don't buy books based on covers - well, I didn't. I did with this one. I thought it was amazing. The disappointment was that the cover gave away the plot!
But I wish I had that cover for my angel book - The Power of Love.


Joe is a lost soul.
When Joe is killed in the line of duty, the result of a blunder by his girlfriend Poppy, he ends up stuck between worlds, not quite in heaven, not quite in hell. Heaven is Poppy lying in his arms, hearing the sound of his name on her lips as he makes love to her, again and again. Hell is the knowledge that to save Poppy, he must convince her to let him go.

Poppy is a soul lost.
Joe was Poppy’s heart, her soul, and since he died she’s lost it all, including her sanity. Everywhere she looks, he’s there—talking to her, touching her, sharing ice cream, showers and making love to her like there’s no tomorrow. But tomorrow does come, and letting go of Joe could destroy her.

Sometimes love lasts a lifetime. Sometimes love reaches beyond death. Sometimes…love lasts forever.

The really GOOD news is that the book is only 99c. It's been reduced so if you don't win it - you could do me a favour and buy it!

My other angel story is a short one, that won third place in the ARe Just one Bite competition. It's available to read for free in an anthology to be released on Thanksgiving. Volume Five!

To end on a joke
What did Noah say to the angel?
Are you an Ark Angel?

Happy reading!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Just One Bite - Ellora's Cave Quickie - out 23rd Nov

My little novella - Just One Bite - is a paranormal erotic romance that I'd originally intended for the ARe competition but it grew and grew and grew!

Liv is having the day from hell. Hit on by her piggish landlord, she’s the victim of an attempted mugging by a guy who bites, and then her hair gets caught in the coffee machine. Things go from bad to worse when she’s stalked on her way home, and the stalker turns out to be the morning’s mugger. Except he’s tall, dark and delicious, offering an apology, flowers, a body to die for and he wants to cook steak for her.

There’s just one snag. He’s a raving lunatic who thinks he’s a werewolf.


It wasn’t the worst day in Liv Miller’s life, that spot was taken by the day she’d slipped her father’s brand new car into reverse instead of park, plowed over a set of golf clubs and through the garage wall to end up in the fishpond. Oh God. Who knew Land Rovers were so powerful and walls so thin? And that grown men could be so attached to sporting equipment? Good thing that she and her father were close. He eventually forgave her. Afterward, when anyone in the family had a bad day, someone managed to bring up that day to top it.

But this day was coming close to that all-time low. Liv had been late for work because her fat, balding, chauvinistic pig of a landlord had grabbed her as she exited her apartment. His suggestion of a way she might like to pay her next month’s rent made Liv’s stomach crawl. When his rancid breath hit her face, she heaved, and that saved her because he thought she was about to throw up and let her go.

Liv had rushed out the building and hardly turned the corner before some fuckwit attempted to mug her. They’d tussled until she’d recalled the one surefire way to hurt a guy. A knee in the balls. He’d doubled over and she ran.

Less than an hour later, Liv proved that accidents in the workplace were indeed a daily hazard when she managed to trap her hair in the coffee machine. Her vindictive boss cut her free, no doubt snipping off far more than she needed to. That hair wouldn’t grow back anytime soon. And now after eight hours of grueling work checking insurance claims, the most stupid of which was from a woman knocked out when she yanked a frozen chicken from her freezer, Liv was being bloody stalked.

She walked faster, certain she wasn’t mistaken. She’d caught sight of a dark-haired guy in a leather jacket staring at her as she left work. He’d popped up again as she got off the bus and had crossed the road after her when she’d tried to give him the slip by dashing over on a red light. There had been a squeal of brakes but no thump, so she guessed he’d made it.

“Excuse me?” a man called.

It had to be him. A stalker with manners was a novelty, but Liv kept going. Her apartment building and safety, assuming Creepo the landlord was out, lay around the corner.

“Could I have a word?” the guy asked.

The tap on her shoulder flipped her from annoyed to furious. Liv gripped her purse tighter, ready to swing it into his face, and turned to confront him. Then she froze, because in front of her stood the man who’d tried to mug her that morning. He held out a bunch of flowers, and when he saw her scowl, lowered them to cover his crotch.

“I have no problem kicking flowers,” Liv snapped. Not when the target lay just beyond.

“I can explain,” he said, taking a step backward.

She scowled harder. “You have five seconds.”

“Name’s Cal Masterson. Not trying to rob you. Wanted to ask for directions, but you didn’t give me the chance to speak.” He flashed a devastating smile.

Potential homicidal mugger slowly morphed into Mr. Tall, Dark and Delicious.

Still…he’d followed her to tell her that?

“You bit me.” Liv glanced at the marks on her arm. He’d drawn blood. She hadn’t realized until she sat down on the bus.

“That was your fault,” he said.

Liv’s jaw dropped. “How can you biting me, be my fault?” She activated her death-ray glare, able to repel a normal man at thirty paces. This one smiled more broadly.

“Your arm got in the way of my mouth.”

“I was trying to defend myself. I thought you were attacking me.”

He rolled his eyes. “You flung your arm into my face. My mouth was open. I was trying to speak when your knee unexpectedly made contact with parts of me I feel particularly fond of, and I bit you. Sorry.”

He pushed the flowers into her hand. Liv sagged. She’d reacted because of Creepo’s earlier grope and maybe she hadn’t given this guy a chance to explain. If he’d wanted to mug her, he wouldn’t have tracked her down to apologize. Liv was a sucker for guys with good manners. Oh damn.

“Apology accepted. I’m fine. Just a few scratches. ’Bye.” Liv turned and he was suddenly in front of her. Wow, speedy guy.

“The thing is,” he said, “and I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I might have infected you.”

Liv gulped as the bottom fell out of her world. “Wha-wha-wha…” Damn, she sounded like a helicopter. Her head flooded with thoughts of hepatitis, HIV, the Ebola virus, bird flu.

He bent to whisper in her ear, “I’m a werewolf.”

Liv’s jaw didn’t just drop—it hit the ground and bounced. Oh God, he was out on day release from an asylum. Tall, dark and delicious regressed to tall, menacing and…darn it, he was still delicious. Plus, she had to give him points for an original pick-up line. He looked at her expectantly.

Play nice with the lunatic. “I see,” Liv said, and nodded in what she hoped was a caring way, sliding her foot back as she spoke and looking round for men carrying a tight-fitting white jacket in his size. “I’ll be sure to look out for signs of rabies.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

Okay, not rabies. That’s good. Liv took another step back.

He moved forward and glanced up. “It’ll be a full moon tonight.” His eyes darkened.

All the better to… Oh God.

“Mmm.” Another step back. Next time she went out, she was buying mace or a machete. Maybe both. Liv spent her days dealing with the results of the unexpected, but even she hadn’t expected to ever meet a werewolf. Not that he was, of course.

“It’s possible nothing will happen,” he said. “But I can’t take the risk. I need to stay and look after you. I’d never forgive myself if you were hurt. You’re much too pretty.” He smiled again with those perfect teeth.

All the better to… Stop it. Liv exhaled. Hopefully it was a coincidence she wore a red dress. If only they’d been in a bar and he’d bought her a drink, or three, and they’d spent a few hours flirting, and he’d called her pretty a half-dozen times, then maybe, just maybe she’d have been up for this. Except for the werewolf bit, of course. She took another step backward.

“Going to invite me in?” he asked.

His question triggered a memory of a TV show. “No.” She stared at him. “So you can’t come in, can you?” Why did the attractive ones have to be either gay or nut jobs? “I haven’t invited you into my apartment so you have to stay outside.”

“That’s vampires.”

Damn, so it was. Her shoulders slumped. “So you don’t sparkle either?”

He glared. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

Liv put on her stern face and thought of her old Latin teacher who had eyes like a hawk, a sharp mouth and loved pop quizzes. Guaranteed to snap her straight into gloom. “I am taking it seriously.” You’re insane, that’s very serious.

She glanced around. Where were crowds when she needed them?

He sighed. “Please let me come with you to your apartment. No funny business, I promise.”

“Let me think. No.”

Actually, bad girl that she was, idiot that she was, Liv fancied a bit of funny business. It had been far too long since— She gave herself a hard mental slap. He thought he was a wolf. She was allergic to dogs. This was not a match made in heaven.

“I’ll cook for you.” He held up a bag. “Steak.”

He had huge black eyes, the longest lashes she’d ever seen, and her willpower was a weak, pathetic little thing easily stamped on.


“Oh all right,” she muttered.

It beat watching a rerun on the TV while she ate a soggy microwave meal, plus her father had always told her to be kind to those less fortunate than herself—such as basket cases. Especially if they made her heart jump and her bits tingle, except not if they thought they’re a werewolf. Well no, her father hadn’t said any of that. His advice when Liv left home was, “Keep your knickers on.” Bless him.

I’ll bear that advice in mind, Liv thought, trying to remember which underwear she’d put on that morning, and led Trouble with a capital T to her apartment.

I’m such an idiot.

If you'd like to read the rest!"">

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

A setting from An Ordinary Girl

Beachy Head featured in my story An Ordinary Girl. It was where Noah went to think and ended up saving a child's life. It's the site of very many suicides in the UK. A steep chalk cliff that drops to the sea - but very pretty!! I've never been before and although I researched it for the story, I hadn't realised how far the car park was from the cliff edge. Ooops!!

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Blog tour with free books!!!!

The start of an angels and demons blog tour with a chance to win books from all authors!!

Nov 14 Jay Di Meo
Nov 15 Ellis Carrington
Nov 16 Daniel Christian Juris
Nov 17 JK Coi
Nov 18 Kiki Howell
Nov 19 Michael Mandrake
Nov 20 Angel Martinez
Nov 21 Marie Dees
Nov 22 Sara York
Nov 23 Barbara Elsborg
Nov 24 Hayley B. James
Nov 25 Ryssa Edwards
Nov 26 Andi Anderson
Nov 27 Arlene Webb
Nov 28 Diane Hartsock
Nov 29 Kiernan Kelly
Nov 30 Tour Wrap Up
Jay Di Meo, Misty Malone, & Marie Dees http://jaydimeo.wordpress

Thursday, November 10, 2011

A Canterbury Tale

Been on a trip to a part of England I've never seen before. Canterbury is a lovely city, dominated by its huge cathedral. I stood on the spot where Archbishop Thomas Becket was assassinated in 1170. The knights didn't make a good job of it and ended up chopping off part of his skull, stabbing him and he still lived, so they stabbed him with a sword and yanked out his brain - still reading?? Horrible story. Oh - that did kill him.

The cathedral had a few great gargoyles and ever since I wrote ROCKED, I've been interested in stone masonry and gargoyles.

The other picture is of a very crooked house that Dickens wrote about!

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Like Angel stories??

My friend and fellow author Marie Dees has written a super MM angel story called 'Angel in the Middle'. It's hot and it's funny and I can really recommend it!

When Darius, the most naïve angel ever bounced out of Heaven, falls from grace and lands in Ybor City, Florida, he finds himself caught in a power play between Heaven and Hell. In desperation, he realizes he must follow the advice of Tribal, a fallen angel turned demon. Tribal advises Darius to seduce the demon hunter coming after him as a way to avoid going to Hell. But how can an angel, who has never experienced sex, seduce Franco, the big bad demon hunter, and just what does Tribal stand to gain by playing Cupid?

Chapter One

Franco stepped aside as a second police officer flew out of the alley and hit the side of the Hummer with a thud. The man slid to the sidewalk and lay unmoving beside his partner. The rest of the Atlanta street crowd had become invisible. Franco knew they’d be watching the street, but no one wanted to be found nearby when something started tossing cops out of an alley.

The smell of cheap rum in the air hinted at what had tempted this one from Hell. Booze, not sex. After all, he’d just thrown away two perfectly acceptable cops, but then, Franco always appreciated a man who supplied his own cuffs.

Opening the back of the Hummer, he studied his options. The alley was too narrow to swing the sword. He considered the crossbow. Nah, for this one—he pulled a half-empty bottle of Maker’s Mark out of the SUV. The liquid glowed like gold as he held the bottle up. Well, the job did demand sacrifices. He gave the unconscious officers a quick salute with the whisky and strode into the alley.

The demon loomed halfway down a narrow space cluttered with garbage from overturned cans and ripped trash bags. “Do you know who I am, mortal?” it bellowed.

Franco removed the top from the bottle and made a show of taking a swig. The scent of the whisky helped to mellow the reek of the alley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and studied the creature. It could almost have passed for one of the homeless with its greasy skin and ragged bits of clothing. Except the homeless weren’t eight feet tall with leathery wings. Damn, if this one took to the air, he’d need the crossbow.

“Nope, who are you?” They never gave their real names, and he never understood the priests who expected them to. Franco edged forward. He’d been hoping this was just a minor imp to send back down to his work in the pits; then he’d be off for a night at The Heretic. Instead he had a high-ranking demon on a binge. There was one name on the latest list. He just hadn’t expected to run across him so soon.

“Lucifer, cast down from the Heavens. Look on me and despair.”

Not that high ranking. Franco tilted his head and stepped forward, as if he needed to get a closer look. “Nope, don’t think so. Luc’s a good-looking fellow.” He took another step, holding the bottle out in front of him. The creature’s gaze moved to it. “His hair isn’t greasy, and he doesn’t have boils.”

With a roar, the demon made a swing for the whisky. Franco pulled back, letting the bottle drop onto one of the half-empty trash bags. The demon lunged for it.

Franco caught him by one ear. “By your name, Gressil, I bind you where you stand.” The demon howled, and Franco tweaked the ear. “Thought so.” He’d only had time for one guess, but this had to be Gressil, the demon of sloth and indolence. Any other demon of his rank would have torn the street apart. Gressil had hunkered down in an alley to get drunk. “See, I’ve met Lucifer. Made a bargain with him once. It went something like this—I don’t go to Hell if you do.” The agreement also meant he was provided with the names of any free-roaming demons. The priests would have been jealous. When it came to demon hunting, they were freelancers. He was staff.

He tweaked the demon’s ear again. Even a lazy demon would object to being returned to the pits. “By your name, Gressil, I send you back to your duties in Hell.”

The demon stretched out his hand, possibly in a plea for pity but more likely in an attempt to reach the whisky bottle. Then the air sizzled around him and he vanished, leaving nothing more than the odor of brimstone to mingle with the scent of spilled whisky. Franco put his hand out and felt the static in the air where the demon had been. The energy wrapped around his fingers and moved up his arm as part of the demon’s life force became his. He stood for a moment, evaluating the change. “Hardly worth the effort.”

He strode from the alley to find one of the cops stirring. Since he could already hear the wail of approaching sirens, he checked the second officer to confirm that he was still breathing, moved the first cop away from the Hummer’s wheels, and drove away. The men had been lucky. Gressil ranked high in Hell’s power structure, but he was a lazy demon without the motivation to do much in the way of real damage.

Franco noticed a few curtains flick as he drove down the deserted street. Tonight no one would talk. By morning three different gangs would be claiming responsibility for dropping the cops. And if he was lucky, he’d have a few days before the next assignment.

* * * *

Darius twitched his linen robe so that it covered the uncomfortable stiffness between his legs and tried to focus on the song. If he didn’t look at the Seraphim, the discomfort would fade. It had last time. If the Seraphim noticed his lack of attention to the song, he’d be assigned to other duties. Serving the Seraphim was a demanding job. Most others took breaks to buff armor for the Powers or run errands to those watching over earth. He only served the Seraphim. He longed for nothing more than to be near them, to listen to them, to sing with them.

He tried to lose himself in the song. When he opened his eyes to gaze on the nearest Seraphim he noticed the pale hair, the elegant hands, and the shape of the thigh under his robe. Darius shifted his position and rearranged his robe again.

Robes rustled as others shifted their positions, and for a moment, he worried that someone had noticed his inattention. But the heads were facing away from him to where Raguel stood, tall and stiff as one of the pillars, at the edge of the group. The Archangel’s gaze moved over the room, and Darius looked away before it settled on him. He focused on the rise and fall of the song and pushed all other thoughts aside. Raguel could see into an angel’s mind and never went anywhere unless he was seeking those who’d transgressed by thought or deed.

When he heard soft sighs, he dared to look around again. Raguel had departed. Darius gathered his robes about him and fled. Raguel could cast out even one of the Seraphim if he caught him with an impure thought.

As he walked through the golden light singing “Holy, Holy, Holy” to himself, he decided he’d overreacted. After all, nothing had happened. He’d just sit further away from the Seraphim next time so he wouldn’t be distracted. He’d focus on the holy singing, and if Raguel showed up again, he would see that Darius was devout enough to sing with the Seraphim.

“Hey, Choir Boy,” a voice called out. “Are you here to join the fun?”

Darius stopped. The path around him had changed. The familiar golden light had dimmed, and the grass under his feet faded to a dull yellow brown. He spun around, ready to retreat, but only gray fog swam behind him. Ahead of him stood a group of angels wearing robes as gray as the fog. He stepped back. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I’ve walked too far.”

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you, Blondie,” one said, moving nearer. He wore his robe hitched up in the cord at his waist so one leg was bare. Darius tore his gaze away before he committed an offense. The angel moved nearer. “Is it true what they say about choir boys? That you can’t sing if you’ve even had an impure thought?”

“I’m not one of the Seraphim.”

The angel licked his lips. “So you do have impure thoughts. I can help with those.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Darius stammered.

“I saw you gaze at my leg. Would you like to see more?”

“No.” Darius stepped back, bumping into someone who stood behind him. A hand grabbed his butt. He jumped in surprise and found himself in the arms of the first angel.

“Don’t be so eager to rush off, Choir Boy. We can teach you joys the Seraphim know nothing about.”

“No.” He’d never measured himself against another angel before, but this one stood a hand’s breadth shorter than he. He shoved him away. “This is not proper.”

He heard a laugh behind him, and someone grabbed his robe, stripping the loosely draped linen from him. He whirled, and his hair flew into his face, blocking his vision. He pushed it out of the way and grabbed for his robe, but the angel holding it tossed it to another. The first angel stepped close, his gaze moving over Darius’s naked body. Darius struck out with his fist, but the angel danced back, dodging the blow.

“Watch out, Blondie is getting angry. Wrath is one of the deadly ones, Choir Boy. Feels good, doesn’t it? We’ll get you to lust in no time.” He tugged his robe up to his waist, revealing his genitals. Darius stared at the thick, swollen penis. “Lust, Blondie, and you’re the one causing it.”

Darius turned away from the sight, but that only brought him nose-to-nose with the angel who’d been touching his bottom. That angel wrapped an arm around his neck and touched his lips to Darius’s. Darius shoved him, and he fell back a step or two with a smile. “Damn, but you are beautiful.”

“Almost good enough to be one of the Seraphim,” his original tormentor said. Darius wanted to deny it, but knowing eyes met his. “Bet you even think about it. Pride. Another deadly one. But lust, well, that one’s the most fun.” He reached down to stroke his thick penis. His hand froze, and his eyes widened in horror. “No, not now. Not yet.”

Darius watched as his tormentor fled, only to see him stop as fire flared in the fog. The angel spun around, eyes wide and his robe tangling around his legs. A fiery ring surrounded the group, and the other angels bunched together, leaving Darius standing alone. As the flames drew closer, he could make out the winged figures of the Powers, the warrior angels who guarded Heaven itself, each holding a sword of flame. They threw a wide band around the group, driving in stray angels from the fog.

Darius heard thunder and a yelp. He whirled to see a jagged crack in the brown grass. The crack grew, snaking its way toward the clump of condemned angels. The group split, shoving each other in their attempt to escape. One fell into the growing gap in the firmament and vanished with a scream.

Flames lashed upward, and the ground beneath Darius moved, tilting him toward the growing hole. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward the Powers. He needed to get close enough for them to see that his soul light still shone pure. He heard another cry and looked over his shoulder to see one of the group that had been taunting him tumble into the gap. His stomach heaved as the angel’s soul light flared into fire, burning away his robes and wings. Darius lurched away from the growing hole. His fingers dug into the firmament, and he shoved himself to his feet. He rushed toward the holy warriors, skidding to a stop only when the nearest leveled a sword of flame at his chest.

He fell to his knees and raised his hands. “Please. I was only lost.”

“To be lost is to fall.” The warrior pointed his sword toward the pit.

“No, please,” he begged. “I don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve not been judged.”

“Raguel has judged. All here have fallen.” The warrior stepped toward Darius, his frown deepening as his gaze flicked over Darius’s shoulder.

Darius looked back and saw the three who had taunted him rushing toward him. For a moment hope flared. They could explain that he’d only wandered off the path. He rose and held his hands out to them, but they didn’t stop. The one with the hitched robe shoved him, sending him skidding toward the warrior. Darius swung his arms, trying to regain his balance. He saw the warrior raise the sword that would extinguish his soul altogether. Then someone else slammed into him, sending him spinning.

The flame of the sword brushed past him as the warrior shifted his attention to his attackers. Darius fell and rolled with the impact. He lay staring at the legs just inches from him. He could see every detail of the straps of the warrior angel’s sandals as they crisscrossed up the back of his muscular legs. He’d landed outside the ring of flame. The others had meant to use him as a distraction to rush past the Powers. Instead, they’d saved him.

His salvation was short-lived. Light flared as Raguel, tall and imperious, appeared. His shoulders drew back as he looked down at Darius. Darius clasped his hands together in a plea. But Raguel only frowned. Light crackled around the Archangel’s fingers. Darius rolled to one side as the first bolt struck, then the second. They missed him, but he felt the ground shudder beneath him as the firmament shattered. He fell in a rush of wind and a roar of sound.